


Wife City?

by doctorhawke (AlwaysTired)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26883862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysTired/pseuds/doctorhawke
Summary: "Do you think of me as your wife?""What?"Quick little scene between Toff Brosca and Morrigan, around two years post-Witch Hunt! <3
Relationships: Male Brosca/Morrigan (Dragon Age), Morrigan/Male Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

"Do you think of me as your wife?"

Toff's head raised sharply from his wood carving. He sat beside Kieran's cradle, where he had been intently shaping a particularly difficult piece of wood into a suitable toy for the sleeping toddler. Now he regarded Morrigan with surprise.

"What?" he asked eloquently.

"Do you think of me. As your wife?" she repeated.

"Why are... what brought this on?"

"You did get me a ring, did you not?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Morrigan. I get you a _lot_ of rings."

At this she threw her hands in the air, scoffing.

"Yes, but- but you paid for it! Usually you find them, or take them from corpses."

Toff didn't respond. He regarded Kieran's cradle, searching for imperfections in the craftsmanship. He had built it several months ago, after Kieran had outgrown the first.

"'Tis foolish to think you can avoid my questions," Morrigan huffed, arms crossing.

Toff sighed. Kieran was fast asleep, and Toff idly rocked his son's cradle, the uneven ground beneath them resulting in a wobble.

"Would it be bad if I did?"

Morrigan huffed again. "Is it not enough to be the father of my child?"

Toff quickly met her eyes.

"That's more than enough. You know all this is a damn sight more than I ever expected to be able to have."

Morrigan held his gaze, then looked away again. Eluvians as far as the eye could see. Potential beyond understanding, expressed in the especially tiny form of their son.

Each of their pasts sat heavy with them for a moment. The pain endured to arrive here, in this place.

Their eyes saw only the future now, Orzammar far behind them. The Korcari Wilds, even further. Untethered.

_Is that what she wants?_ Toff wondered. _To be untethered?_

She had left, yet had allowed his return. Two years now, and still he stayed. He intended to stay forever, responsibilities be damned. The Wardens, the Assembly, could call him until they went blue in the face. He had found where he wanted to be.

"It is not as though I can cast judgement. Tis true that I gave you a ring of similar sentiment not long after we met," Morrigan said softly.

"You're finally admitting there was sentiment behind it, then?"

"I do aim to be truthful, for Kieran's sake as much as yours."

Toff snorted.

"Don't push your luck, little man," Morrigan said as she glared at him, though it was without venom.

He looked back at her, and her heart fluttered as she registered the quiet adoration in his eyes. _Lousy thing,_ she thought at her heart.


	2. Poor Varathorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When playing, I accidentally clicked on Morrigan INSTEAD of Varathorn in the Dalish camp. She proceeded to have the "I wish to know your opinion of love" cutscene, RIGHT THERE, and all I could think was "poor Varathorn, this is painfully realistic representation for customer service," so here we are. <33

The Dalish camp bustled. The Wardens had just stabilized the conflict with the werewolves, and the elves were readying themselves to join the fight against the darkspawn. Varathorn was no exception, especially considering he had a new specimen of ironbark to work with, not to mention a small army to furnish with armor and weapons. 

It seemed that the Wardens and their compatriots were beginning to collect their camp and be on their way. Varathorn could see their encampment just past the thicket of trees surrounding the south side of the Dalish camp. Tents were collapsed, packs stuffed to the brim, and the Wardens’ companions worked with a ferocious speed and fluidity which betrayed their experience at the task. Laughter filtered through the trees, as one of them stumbled over a tree stump, and an armful of burlap found itself scattered across the forest floor.

Varathorn smiled. In many ways, he saw similarities between his clan and this little group. He had heard them singing at night and bickering over meals. Their archer had requested to join a hunting party the night before, after the resolution of the werewolf situation. The elves had queasily agreed, unwilling to say no to one of their allies, but clearly not fully onboard with the concept of hunting alongside a shem. It helped that the Dalish Warden in the group, seeing their unease, quickly volunteered to tag along. Regardless, the human had proven herself skilled, and Varathorn respected her desire to work together to help feed the clan. 

Varathorn looked wistfully towards the Wardens’ camp, failing to notice a group approaching his work area from the other direction. At a nudge from his apprentice, he turned. 

“What do you- oh, Warden Brosca!”

“Varathorn. I was looking to barter, we found some things that-” 

The Warden paused, seemingly remembering something.

“Shit. Sorry, I’ll just be one second, I was going to try and see if- hey Zevran, would this dagger be better for you, or are you alright if I sell it?” He’d removed his pack, and rooted around for a moment. Retrieving a very fine dagger, he handed it to the nearby elf. 

Varathorn hadn’t gotten the chance to meet this Zevran, but he had overheard him around the Dalish campfire telling stories about a clan which lived far north, near Antiva. The youngsters had also had a lot of questions about what the city he hailed from was like, what the weather was like, if he had ever been sailing. He’d answered the children happily, and had easily kept them entertained when they followed him around the camp the rest of the night. 

“Hrm, it’s certainly of a fine make, but I would not mind to be parted with it; the last one you found for me is still of better quality.” Zevran returned the dagger to the Warden.

“Excellent. ‘Kay, there’s this, this…” The Warden was now pulling items from his pack and piling them onto the ground. “Sorry Varathorn, normally I’d do this at camp, but it’s in a bit of disarray at the moment, so…”

“No need to apologize, I understand. It seems like quite the commotion over there,” Varathorn responded smoothly. He was no merchant, but he was generally skilled with keeping people at ease- they were usually easier to deal with that way, even outsiders. Perhaps especially outsiders. The Warden smiled up at him from his spot on the ground. The pile of items had become several distinct piles, and the pack was almost empty. 

Holding up a bit of silver jewelry- a necklace or bracelet, perhaps- the Warden smiled brightly and gestured to one of his companions. A tall, disinterested looking woman, responded, seeming somewhat startled. 

“Morrigan, would you like-”

“Warden. I wish to know your opinion of love.”

“...What?” The Warden looked perplexed. “Here? Right in front of Varathorn??”

“I don’t see why you persist in asking me such trivial questions,”

“Well, it just seems a little-”

“Warden, Flemeth is gone. You killed her for me, to protect me, without hope of reward. I remain grateful, but I must know your views. We have been intimate for some time, and therefore, ‘tis a fair question.”

Toff looked up at her, wide-eyed. Slowly, he eased himself off the ground, and dusted his hands off on his sides deliberately. Morrigan watched with growing impatience. Varathorn watched with growing discomfort. 

Morrigan continued, perhaps hoping to prompt a response from him. 

“When I am with you, I feel an agonizing sense of dependency. Of weakness. If this is what love is, I wish to ascertain that you do not feel the same.”

Toff glanced at Varathorn, face carefully neutral, then looked back to Morrigan. He shifted. 

“Well?”

“Are you saying you love me?”

“No, pay attention! This is a weakness, for us both.”

It was then that Varathorn realized the Warden’s other companions had wandered away. Zevran and Oghren stood off to the side, seemingly joking and amusing themselves, and- was Oghren doing a dance? Incomprehensible. Varathorn looked down at his wares, wishing he could quietly back away into his tent, but the Warden’s pile of goods still sat on the ground, and several of those knives looked quite promising, as did a pair of gloves and a small cache of jewelry.

Toff reached out a hand as if to touch her arm, but drew back, as if thinking better of it. He sighed. 

“Love isn’t a weakness, Morrigan.”

Her face twisted with frustration and sadness. “Do not be such a fool! I am not worthy of your distraction… and you are not worth mine.”

The Warden stepped back as though he had been scalded. Fingers nervously sought out the ring on his left hand and twisted it. 

Morrigan sighed. “I didn’t mean it like- 

“You are utterly worthy.” He said it so softly as to almost go unheard.

“I…” Morrigan looked exhausted. “You are impossible. Have it your way.”

The Warden started to gather up the items from the ground and place them onto Varathorn’s table. Avoiding eye contact, he swung his bag onto his back. Morrigan threw her hands in the air. 

“I will tell you truly now- you will regret it in the end.” And with that, Morrigan turned and left. Varathorn let out a small breath. 

The Warden’s eyes were shut tight, embarrassment and abject misery apparent in his body language.

“Um, so. How much, for…”

Varathorn quickly handed him the sums.

“Thank you. And, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to…” He sighed.

As Varathorn looked at the Warden, he thanked the Creators that he wasn’t going to have to leave the clan to fight. Even friendly outsiders were more trouble than they were worth.


End file.
